Courage
by karabair
Summary: ScottJean, early years. Jean has been talking to Susan Richards about the hardheaded alpha males they both try to share their lives with. . .Scott reaps the benefits.


FIC: Courage

Fandom: X-men (First Class, or the early years; could work in movieverse too).

Pairing: Scott/Jean

After dinner, Jean steered him upstairs, to her room, and they sat on the bed and they kissed until his neck was sore. Scott's hands ran along her shoulders, down her back, then up to cradle her chin and twist in her hair. He thought he was learning to kiss her well --lightly, patiently, letting her soft, fast tongue play inside of his lips.

She moved closer, her breasts pressing against him, through her tight blouse. Scott froze, felt his pulse speed up, his skin heating and all of the blood rushing --

Scott pulled back and reached out to touch her face. "So," he said, "We should probably get some work done tonight?"

"Sure, I guess." She jerked away, and stood up. He knew he had done something wrong. He didn't know how to do it right. He wished she would talk to him, in his mind, the way the Professor said she might be able to do one day. Not only talk to him, but crawl inside his mind, wrap herself around his thoughts. To bridge the gap, somehow, between what he wanted and what he could ask her for.

For now, he sat on Jean's bed, a legal pad balanced on his knee. He frowned at the diagram he had sketched out, and flipped his pencil to attack the drawing with an eraser. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something wasn't quite working here --

"So," Jean said, "I've been talking to Susan Richards."

"Oh?" Scott glanced up. She sat at the end of the bed, her head bent forward. She was running a comb through her long hair, as it fell in front of her. Her shoulders moved as she lifted and lowered her hand. Scott tightened his grip on the pencil and shifted his legs, not allowing himself to be distracted by the possibilities of those long arms, by the memory of her hair falling carelessly against his chest. He looked down at the pad. "What did you two talk about?"

"This and that. Things we have in common. Hard-headed alpha males we try to share our lives with."

Scott looked up with a frown. "Did Warren do something?"

"No. Well, I mean, yes, probably, he usually has. But --" She let out a frustrated sigh then turned around and, as Scott watched, pulled the blouse over her head. Scott didn't make a sound, just kept his eyes trained on her tight, lacy black brassiere, as she crawled across the bed toward him.

She moved in to kiss him. After a moment's paralysis, his hands started fumbling along her back -- a simple hook and eye system, this shouldn't be hard. He pulled the bra off and tried to ignore his quickening heartbeat. His eyes moved from her chest, to her face, and back down -- not sure whether to be more amazed that he was so close to these full, round breasts, or that they belonged to Jean. Finally, in an act of courage that seemed to be without parallel in his life so far, Scott reached up and cradled one of them in his hand. Jean let out a long shuddering breath, and leaned into kiss him again -- and it occurred to him, only now, how much more courage this must have taken for her. He reached his thumb up, and stroked it down her breast. "I'm sorry," he murmured, into her kiss.

"It's all _right_." Misunderstanding the reasons for his apology, still slightly exasperated. "You can do that to me, Scott, you can --" She rolled away, onto her back, smiling up at him. "You can do anything you want to me, Mister Summers. Just don't take so damn long about it."

Scott lay on his back, Jean's body curled against him. He replayed everything, letting the memory of new sensations wash over him. He was happy, ridiculously happy, but he couldn't help wondering whether she felt the same way. He loved that she had made such a bold move, cutting through all of his doubts. At the same time, he was sorry that she had needed to. He wondered whether he was destined always to be so dense. . .so hard-headed, as she had put it. He wished he could feel more like the confident man Jean Grey deserved, not the eager, clumsy boy he was afraid he had been.

"Nothing wrong with boys," Jean muttered.

"Hmm?" he said, speaking into her hair.

"I like boys." She turned on her side to face him. "I wish you'd give yourself permission to act like one, more often."

"Wow." Scott shook his head. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

She swatted his chest, playfully. "Because you said it, silly."

He shook his head.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God. I read your mind. I think I -- holy shit. I think I read your mind. The Professor said maybe one day, with a lot of practice, but -- it must have been something we -- we have to tell him!"

"What? Jean! We can't -- " His stomach dropped at the horror of the suggestion.

She giggled, and cuddled in against his shoulder. "Well maybe we'll wait. See if we can make it happen again."

"Yeah," he swallowed. "Maybe." They lay there quietly for a moment, before he remembered something and asked, "What was it Susan said to you, exactly?"

"She said --" Jean smiled up at him. "'Take your clothes off, and see what he does. If that doesn't work, stop wasting your time.'"

"Oh." He rolled his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "So," he said after a moment. "Did it work?"

"I don't know," Jean answered. "I might have to try again and see." Her hand drifted up to his chin, and as her eyes closed, she murmured, "Tomorrow."


End file.
